Returning to the scene of the crime

I'm not doing so well.  I arrived at my parents' house for a visit Tuesday, and my period started Tuesday evening, which was no surprise, since we missed the egg this month.  Wednesday was my monthly day of hell, which I initially thought was not going to be so bad. Hadn't I been keeping up with my supplements, my fertility yoga, the centering prayer? Wasn't I feeling less stagnant than usual?

But then I called my RE's office to schedule my hysteroscopy, and the nurse told me to avoid all blood-thinning medications: aspirin, NSAIDs, etc. I was already doped up on Aleve, so she told me not to take any more. I thought I was over the risk of vomiting, so I had a light dinner with my parents.

Then the Aleve wore off. I took Tylenol, but, to put it indelicately, it didn't do shit. Stabbing abdominal pain, severe aching in my hips and knees, and vomiting followed, plus very heavy bleeding. I took one of my specially-compounded Valium suppositories, and continued to vomit. I took another. No effect. I finally gave up and took an Indocin suppository, which is an NSAID, but I just couldn't take any more. Ten minutes later, I was asleep.

The pain was excruciating, but worse was the accompanying despair. The deep sense of failure of not being pregnant. The hatred and disgust that my body was doing this to me again.

I missed DH, who couldn't come home with me because of work. My mother was on hand, emptying the vomit bucket at regular intervals and directing me to rinse my mouth with water, but her presence was a mixed blessing. She never knew how to comfort me when I was a child. When I was a teenager, suffering with the same damn cramps (which were longer in duration but less intense) she told me that I would feel better if I moved around.

She now understands how very abnormal this is, and I know it's hard for her when she has to see me like this, but she's no better at comforting me. I learned long ago how to comfort myself, but when I'm in that much pain, I just can't. My despair at failing to conceive finally spilled out, but her response was to remind me that we're "going to adopt anyway" and maybe I should just tell DH that I want a hysterectomy now, and that I should just "think positive."

I told her that that was Gospel of Prosperity bullshit and that I didn't want to hear anymore of it. She got the message.

That was two nights ago, but the effects of the physical and emotional trauma still remain. I thought it would be better to come home for my day of hell than to stay alone at home. But now I wonder if it's the best thing for me to be back at home in the house where I felt so alone growing up experience the same medical condition.

I wonder how long I can keep doing this, going through this monthly hell.

I can't have surgery to remove the adenomyoma, because it might scar my uterus closed. I can't conceive, possibly because of the adenomyoma.

How long before I call it quits forever?